As I Fall
by Woofhound104
Summary: This is my AU version if Sherlock actually was 'defeated' by Moriarty, if he actually had a death wish. Sherlock stands atop the building he has been secretly been watching for weeks. Moriarty, dead, blood draining onto the ground. Sherlock hadn't killed him. Moriarty had told him that if he didn't kill himself, that all of his friends and family would be shot. Then, the cri


"Goodbye, John." I say, tossing the phone on the ground. I hear him shout my name, a desperation in his voice that I have never heard before. I choose to ignore it. I glance back at Moriarty, his lifeless body draining out before my eyes. I turn back forward. This is it. I subconsciously count my breaths as I look down. There is no way I would be able to survive when I jump. I close my eyes, trying to remember something good that has happened to me. Something to convince myself from jumping.

'He could look at you and tell your whole life story. We hated him.' Sebastian's voice echoes in my head. I recall my entire schooling career was traumatic. They picked me apart for everything I was worth, and then some more. The teachers did not understand why I was so smart at such a young age. Some loved me, others thought I was being a kiss-ass. Most disliked me, however. I couldn't win. I tried to become extroverted and make friends. They all sneered and giggled at me whenever I tried. So I gave up. There is no use trying to befriend one of those monsters.

The only one who I had considered a 'friend', was Mycroft. He only was nice to me when no one was around. During school, I was as invisible to him as I was to all the other students. I know he was embarrassed to be related to me. I know he was been through the wringer with all of the nasty comments from the kids pertaining to me. At home, he tried to comfort me. I wanted nothing to do with him. Why couldn't he have been there when I actually needed him?

When I moved into higher grade levels, the abuse from the other students increased. They were merciless. I never had a girlfriend, so all of the males in the school would call me a fag, a homo, and a queer. They did not understand the concept of being celibate, or prude. Besides, relationships were dull and overrated. They continued to bully me for anything and everything. Even the kids who were considered to be nice would tease me.

I learned not to have emotional attachment to anything or anyone. I know it all would backfire and blow up in my face. I kept myself void of all friendships, and only focused on the work that I was assigned to. The schoolwork is what kept me busy. Anything to not think about the abuse from that day. I never missed an assignment. That alone had added more teasing to the list of countless other things that they found funny about me.

One day, I remember Mycroft coming into my room with a look of concern on his face. I sternly told him to leave me alone, it has been a hard enough day already. He said that he needed to take me somewhere. I shook my head. No way was I going anywhere that required interaction. Mycroft said it was important. He needed to take me to a doctor. I asked him why, I was perfectly healthy. Mycroft grinned, had I said something funny? He answered me, saying it wasn't a doctor to physically examine me, but mentally. I shot him a puzzled glance. He says I have been acting depressed.

I didn't know what I have been acting like for the entirety of my life, all I knew was pain and isolation. I denied Mycroft, waving an uninterested hand in a gesture for him to exit my room. He reiterated that it was important, and that he was concerned. I looked at him impassively. No one has ever been 'concerned' for me. I want to laugh, laugh at his fake interest. I told him there is no way that I was going to let him take me to a psycho evaluation. He said if I continue moping around and sulking in my room all day, then he would make me go. It was Mumzie's orders that he would be disobeying anyways.

I agreed, attempting to change my attitude around my family. I spent more time in the family room, to make them feel that their, 'darling son' is getting better. They fell for it. Even Mycroft, who has seen me through the worst of the worst, believed it. I became sneakier when showing my real emotions, the little ones that I had left.

After I had graduated everything that I needed to in my schooling career, I moved out of Mumzie's and into a small flat. It was mundane and lonesome, more lonesome than before. I didn't have to get a job, Mumzie was rich. She paid my rent and everything else. For days upon days, I wouldn't do anything. It felt good to not have to get up in the morning for more uncalled judgment at a place called school.

The longer I had isolated myself from my family, the only people who cared about me, the more emotional I became. I didn't allow myself to feel before. I told myself time and time again to not let the bullies bother you, to not give them the power to hurt you, to not feel anything anymore. I couldn't help but feel more and more hurt with every insult they threw at me. Now that no one is here to ridicule me, I feel like I must ridicule myself. I formed a deep hatred of myself that I could not explain if you were to ask me.

It was an irrational hate. I know I should have had some self worth, some respect for myself. But all the positivity was ripped from my life at a young age. I tried for the longest time to like myself, but I found nothing likable. At that point I realized how alone I really was. Alone is what I had. Alone protected me. Being alone also got the best of me. But I made one friend along the way.

It's name was cocaine. Paradise white. It told me that everything was going to be alright, that I had to hold on a bit longer. It told me the same story again and again. I wanted it to tell me more. I upped my intake of it. It then told me that everything is better. It asked me to compare now to three years ago. It had a point.

The more I wanted it to tell me, the more I had to take. It got to the point where my body was reacting badly. I knew I had to stop. That even what it was telling me was a lie. It was only saying that for me to continue it's use. It was using me. Then I become more and more sad. My body was going insane with the withdrawals. I managed to say goodbye to cocaine after realizing that it wasn't doing me any good anymore.

And so Sebastian was right. They did all hate me, they still do. Everyone did, and still does. I feel a gust of wind in my hair. Something about the breeze reminded me that it is time. "Sherlock!" John yells. I spread my arms out to my sides. "Finally," I say, inhaling the fresh air deep into my lungs. "I'm free." I close my eyes, allowing body to become weak, and to fall forward. My weight increases my falling speed the longer I am in midair. I hit my terminal velocity. All my senses and emotions and what not are screaming at me to react. They want me to yell for help, they want me to survive. My instinct for survival isn't going to last long once I impact.

I wish I could have said so much more to John. More than I had. He was my one true friend. The one person who hasn't given me a reason to put up the same brick walls I have my entire life. I was able to be myself around him without feeling scared of judgment. I wish I could have known him longer.

I open my eyes, the ground coming closer and closer. If I were to extend my arm, I could touch it. Pain, greater then I have ever felt before, engulfs my body. Then black, all I see is black, but my eyes are open. I blink once, not regaining my vision. My breath becomes shorter and shorter, until I cannot seem to inhale anymore. I cough, the flavor of blood on my tongue. My body is contorted in ways that aren't natural. I cannot feel my legs. All the everyday sounds that I have become accustomed to begin to fade, as do I. I am finally, finally free of the weight that has burdened me my whole life.


End file.
